A Trip Down Memory Lane
by LapsusStili
Summary: Sara and Grissom are taking some much deserved time away from the lab. Our Geeks plus a cottage plus some flip flops equals an interesting vacation. A very belated fic for the Summer Sizzler Ficathon from Geekfiction. GSR.
1. Chapter 1

Title: **A Trip Down Memory Lane **  
Rating: Mature (a little potty mouth, a little porn)  
Spoilers: Anything up to the end of Season 6, including the finale, is fair game.  
Disclaimers: I just checked again... CSI is still not mine. Dammit.

A/N: I'm not quite sure how to catagorize this one… it's kind of a having an identity crisis. There's some humour, definitely fluff, and in the 2nd half you'll find a serving of smut thrown in, as well as a smidge of pain. In any case, it's hefty enough to warrant breaking up, so this is part 1 of 2. I'll polish off the rest and post it later in the week. Enjoy!

Dedication: _WINDBOUND_ (on LJ) can take credit for helping me to drag this one out, brush it off, and finally get back to writing. Thanks so much!

**A Trip Down Memory Lane **

I'd like to tell you all a humorous little story. Well actually, it's kind of a tragedy of sorts – a fashion tragedy really. One of those things that we all know about, but figure only happens to the infamous "someone else." Well, in this case it did happen to someone else – but let me start from the beginning...

As we all know, Sara Sidle is not a frilly woman. Oh, she's certainly attractive and well put together, it's just that she doesn't spend countless hours primping before leaving the house every morning in designer duds. Given the right circumstances, of course, she can dress to the nines – last year's LVPD Christmas formal was a perfect example. That jewel blue backless gown was simply stunning, and even Catherine had been impressed at how well she cleaned up, but I digress… My point is that for the most part, Sara does her shopping at Levi's or the Gap, not Gucci or Saks. Her casual style speaks more of comfort and practicality – not keeping up with the latest runway fashions.

Gil Grissom is well aware of Sara's dressing habits. He sees her as a beautiful no-nonsense woman and he appreciates her simple grace. That is precisely why her little secret caught him so off guard when they finally got to the co-habitation stage. You see, Sara has a surprising number of shoes. Astonishing. Bordering on shocking, to be honest. Now admittedly, no woman can live on just one lonely pair of shoes, not even Miss Sidle, but this was ridiculous.

Grissom was stunned at the number of boxes labeled "footwear" that he toted into the bedroom of their new house last Fall. Among them were several pairs of conservative shoes for court, a variety of sturdy boots and oxfords that the demands of work called for, countless heels, sandals, runners, slip-ons, loafers, duckies for those wet days... there were even some that defied classification as far as Grissom was concerned. The biggest issue that he had with them, though, was that the majority of them just lay there gathering dust-bunnies in the closet. Other than a handful that were on her normal rotation, the rest were rarely worn, if ever. But -- she never seemed to get rid of any of them, and even added to the masses on a remarkably regular basis.

And so, on a warm day in early June, Grissom found himself attempting to pack for their vacation. He and Sara wanted to get out of the city for a while, and when he had mentioned it in passing to Brass a few weeks ago, the surly cop had surprised him with the announcement that he owned a cabin out near Walker Lake. How convenient! It hadn't been used much in the past few years, but Brass was more than happy to let them make use of it.

"Saves me the trouble of heading all the way up there just to check on it anyhow," had been his argument when refusing to accept Grissom's insistence of paying rent. Instead, a hand-shake and clap on the back were exchanged, and that was that. The plans were made.

Oh ya, so back to the packing... so Grissom was kneeling in their bedroom walk-in closet pawing through Sara's stockpile of footwear, searching desparately for his sandals – his only pair of sandals. He knew they were definitely in there, but actually finding them was another matter. Sara wandered by, carting a basket of fresh laundry, just at the height of his frustration. It was mere luck that the navy Manolo which came hurtling from the closet didn't whack her on the back of the head. The sound of something thunking off the nightstand startled Sara. When she turned and spied her ridiculously priced pump lying on the carpet, she gasped.

Whirling around she barked, "Gil! What the hell are you --"

Her quick ducking saved her from catching a Nike in the teeth. She stared in shock from her crumpled position on the floor as her fiance, his back turned to her, continued to launch various shoes over his shoulder. When a moccasin landed nearby, Sara snagged it and pelted it back at him. The direct hit to his butt caught his attention and put a halt to the rain of shoes. He whipped his head around. The scowl on his face indicated his foul mood, and she suspected it was there long before she threw him that airborne kick in the ass.

"What is your problem?" she asked, getting to her feet.

Grissom went back to riffling through the clutter but refrained from throwing anything this time. "I'm looking for my Rockports and I can't find them in all this... _excess _!" he rumbled. He might've censored his explanation, but Sara was well aware that he really meant to say "in all this _shit _" – meaning all _her _shit.

As she picked up her Manolo she shot back, "Ya well, that's no reason to toss a $400 shoe across the room."

This caught his attention. He turned his whole body this time and sat back on his tush – both to see her better and because his knees were killing him. "You paid $400 for a lousy pair of shoes? Are you insane? You _look _like the woman I asked to marry me, but that can't be right because there's no way _she'd _spend that much on something to wear _on her feet _!"

She sheepishly corrected him with, "Actually, the $400 is just for the one you tossed. It was about $800 for the pair."

At the sight of his jaw dropping and eyes bugging out, she quickly added, "And before you go ballistic, I bought them with my bonus last summer so don't give me grief. I was having a rough year and I deserved a treat... something special. A little pick-me-up, ya know?" Tilting her head, she smiled and sweetened the pot, "Of course, if I had known that you were going to come to your senses and ask me out just 3 weeks later, I'd have saved my cash. You were a much better perk than these ever were."

Despite the compliment, her justification got Grissom thinking back on the troubles that had plagued her over the past year or so before they started dating. His annoyance quickly withered. It really had been a particularly trying period for her. Between investigating a case where 3 young boys were treated like garbage by their aunt, where one starved to death and the others were close to it; the haz-mat scare that she and Greg went through due to toxic mould at a crime scene; being attacked by that psycho at the Desert State Mental Hospital; and the horror they all experienced when Nick was abducted. Describing it as a "rough year" was being generous. Add to that her mandated PEAP counselling and a long-overdue confession to him about her traumatic past, and it was a wonder she held it together at all. He found it surprising that a blow-up with Catherine and Ecklie plus a near DUI constituted the extent of her meltdown. Sara is one tough cookie, and Grissom had only recently begun to allow himself to see that.

Now he felt guilty for making such a big deal over something as trivial as a pile of shoes. He sighed. Softening his tone, he tried a different approach.

"Fair enough. They were a well-deserved reward, so by all means keep the stilettos." There was a slight pause, then he continued, "After all, it would be a shame to throw them away when I would much rather take you someplace fancy so you'll have an excuse to wear them – heels do wonders for your legs... not that you need help in that area."

He quirked a sly grin her way while openly ogling her lovely gams from hip to toe. Yep, Gil was definitely a leg man.

She chuckled at his playfulness, the prior tension evaporating, and Gil found himself smiling along with her. It amazed him that for almost half a century he survived quite happily in his own private cocoon of existence - neat, orderly, quiet. And yet after only 8 months of living with Sara, he found he could hardly remember being without her. It was like some sort of love-struck amnesia. If there was a cure for it, this entomologist wanted nothing to do with it.

After a moment he returned his attention to sorting and re-arranging the shoes in the closet. She collected the ones scattered around on the floor and brought the arm-load of them back to dump them at his side.

"Thanks. Hey, since I'm going through these anyways, what do you say to thinning out the collection a bit?" he ventured.

"Oh, I did that already just before we moved in. I only brought the ones I wanted to keep – that I'll wear again."

He couldn't help himself – with doubt in his voice he retorted, "When you say you'll wear them again... um, do you mean in the next year or just at some point before you retire?"

This earned him another glare, and when she propped her hands on her hips and widened her stance, he knew she was digging in for the long haul. Sara could be a stubborn force to reckon with when she really got behind something and this looked to be one such issue.

"For your information, mister, I _do _wear them sometimes."

Deciding to stand his ground, he called her bluff. Reaching to his left, he randomly picked one out. It was a flip flop that was all squashed and mis-shapen, and had definitely seen better days. "Even these?" he probed, "providing we can find its mate, of course."

I've gotta tell you... this was the most god-awful thing you can imagine. I mean hideous. The base was a thick white slab of cheap foam with little butterfly images, and not very good ones at that, stamped around the top in a random fashion. The outside edge of it was all scraped up, like the wearer had been walking a little too close to a curb in them for a couple of miles. The straps were in better condition, but sported a bright neon pink gingham pattern. The worst part was the gangly plastic daffodil bloom that flopped up from the thong where it snuck down between your toes. Shaking his head, he assumed the fake flower had been a bright yellow at some point, but had faded to a sickly brownish-streaked cream over the years. Add to that a decade of dust and dirt and you'll have a pretty good image of the horror that was this shoe.

Sara scowled at the look of disgust that he was aiming at her flip flop. "Hey now, those are my Winter Luau sandals from college!"

Grissom shifted his gaze her way, regarding her like she was on crack.

"Every year we had these themed dorm keggers, and in my last year we went with Hawaiian," she went on as she drifted off back to the early 90's. "A bunch of us sat around one night - uh... Lisa, Miranda and... oh, what was her name... J- J- Joanne? No – Jordan! That's right... Jordan Tate. Ya... Anyhow, the four of us spent hours making these. We added the butterflies and flowers ourselves, you know," she announced with pride.

"You don't say?" he responded in true smart-ass form. Luckily it didn't ruin her mood as she continued to speak of the ugly shoe with fondness.

"Ya, and I remember being so pissed off when I knocked over some nailpolish… Some idiot had left it open on the nightstand or something. Well, it slopped across one of my flip flops and I remember cursing a blue streak over it."

Grissom turned it over in his hands and reported that it had to be the other one, as this one had no such stain.

Chewing on her lower lip, Sara went on. "That was quite a party, though. Naturally, there was a lot of drinking and laughing and some really bad singing... and by bad I mean _terrible_. But it didn't matter, ya know? It was such a great night... the tacky shirts, grass skirts... and we all got lei-ed on every floor!"

Grissom burst out laughing at this. At first she didn't catch on and shot him a quizical look, but then realized her accidental double-entendre and joined him. On a whim she told him to fish out the matching shoe and pack them. "I'll wear them on our trip," she announced.

He realized that she only decided to bring them to prove him wrong about ever wearing them again, but he complied anyhow. If nothing else, they'd be good for a laugh or two. It didn't take long to find the other one. After wiping the crud from them both with a tissue, Grissom noted the aforementioned glittery pink blemish splotched across the heel of the second one with amusement. He dropped them both into the duffel bag along with his own sandals which had inevitably turned up in the mess.

Early that evening, with the packing complete, the couple toddled off to bed. They needed to get some rest before heading out on their trip early the next morning.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

**_Stay tuned for part 2 later this week... _**

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	2. Chapter 2

Title: **A Trip Down Memory Lane **  
Rating: Mature (a little potty mouth, a little porn)  
Spoilers: Anything up to the end of Season 6, including the finale, is fair game.  
Disclaimers: I just checked again... CSI is still not mine. Dammit.

Dedication: WINDBOUND (on LJ) can take credit for helping me to drag this one out, brush it off, and finally get back to writing. Thanks!

A/N: The original plan was to post this in 2 parts, but the darn thing just keeps growing. This is the second installment and there'll only be one more after this. It won't make much sense without reading the first part, so ya… go do that, ok? Enjoy!

**A Trip Down Memory Lane **

_- part 2 -_

- - - - - - - - -

Ok, I won't go into all the details of their six-hour drive the following day, because quite honestly it wasn't all that exciting. It was your standard roadtrip – they chatted, they stopped for lunch, they listened to some music, made a couple of bladder-induced pit stops, blah blah blah. Things started getting more interesting when they were pretty much there, though…

Now Sara was thrilled that they were heading to an area of Nevada that she hadn't been to, but she was somewhat leery as to what they might find at their destination. She loved Brass to pieces… however… he _was_ a man - a _single_ man - and Sara was well aware that single men in general have a different standard of acceptable lodgings than most women. Although Sara wasn't most women, she did possess a fairly definite ideal of cleanliness. She was worried that this little-used "cottage in the woods" would turn out to be a one-room shack with a pot-bellied woodstove, a vermin-infested mattress on the floor in the corner, and a rickety set of folding chairs around a table whose sole purpose was to accommodate Brass and his drinking buddies for a few games of poker between their manly attempts at hunting. Not a pleasant image at all.

So once they had veered off the main highway, as indicated in Jim's scrawled directions, the vacationers made their way along a fairly overgrown dirt road through about a mile of low brush. They eventually broke through into a smaller clearing, and the track wound its way across it into stand of towering trees. As they neared the thicket, the front of a cedar-shake cabin came into view tucked just inside the woods. Its front door was painted a pale buttery yellow that matched the window frames. I'd say that "quaint" is about the best word to describe it in a nutshell – it may sound cliché, but it really was. There was even a split-rail fence separating the roadway from the property. Sara couldn't help but be pleased with the surprising scene.

After the lengthy treck, Grissom was happy to see the place too, though his relief was more for a chance to get out of the truck and get the feeling back in his ass - it had gone numb a good twenty minutes earlier. He drove around the fence and pulled up in a cleared spot near the entrance. As the pair climbed out of the air-conditioned interior, they expected to be hit with the late afternoon heat that was surely cooking the Las Vegans back home. Instead, they were greeted by a fresh wind and a much more tolerable warmth. The dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves of the quaking aspen, which were quite aptly living up to their name in the breeze, created a peaceful atmosphere.

"Wow," they said in unison, then looked at each other and grinned stupidly. This was looking good so far.

They toted their bags inside and dumped them by the front door before sleuthing out the layout of the place. Both were suitably impressed by what they found within as they meandered about. Who knew Brass had such a flair for décor? There weren't too many rooms and none of them were very big, but it was nicely done up. And more importantly for Sara, it was clean.

A stone fireplace with a cozy leather sofa in front of it greeted them in the main room. The galley kitchen had decent, modern appliances – not just the hand-me-down junk that many people relegate to their cabins. There was indoor plumbing, which may not seem worth mentioning unless you've had the misfortune of outhousing it, so ya… it had plumbing. And the crowning glory awaited them in the bedroom. It was a handsome, peeled-log frame bed with an extra deep mattress, and a gaggle of pillows piled at the head. A rag quilt of flannel and old denim squares covered the bed, warming up the room with its palette of beiges, creams, and pale blue. It wasn't something that Sara would ever have imagined Jim to own, and reading her mind, Grissom supplied the logical explanation as she caressed its soft surface, tracing the frayed seams.

"His ex was famous for her quilts. Not a terribly common hobby in this day and age, but as you can see, the woman had talent. This was the only one he ever liked… it's actually the only thing he took with him besides his clothes when they split up."

Grissom shuffled up behind Sara and slipped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. He mumbled softly, "So… what do you think of the place?"

To be frank, she was thrilled at the modern conveniences, the well-kept furnishings, and, dust aside, the unexpected cleanliness they had found. Twining her fingers in his, Sara beamed as she leaned back against him.

"I think we need to do something _really_ nice for Brass when we get home. I mean it… this place is absolutely gorgeous, Gil. Just perfect," to which he hummed his agreement.

With their tour complete, they made their way back to the main room where Sara drew him into her arms. She grazed his lips with a delicate kiss and meant it to end there, but Gil had other ideas. He wrapped his longer arms completely around her, pinning her arms between his biceps and his torso, and brought their mouths together again. This time with a little more oomph behind it.

She squeaked at the unexpected move, but kissed him back heartily, running her fingers back and forth in short strokes along the waistline at the back of his shorts. That was about as much as her current trapped position allowed. God, she loved how possessive and almost aggressive he could get. Never in a domineering sense, mind you, but in a way that made her felt sensual and wanted and needed. He nabbed her lower lip between his and held it captive, sucking lightly, his tongue playing along its plumpness. And then he started to sway from side to side with her as though moving to music only he could hear. With a shuddering sigh he pulled his head back a little, stretching the flesh a tad before releasing it. The low sound from her throat – something between a moan and a laugh – brought him back in for more of her luscious mouth.

Real kissing like this has largely become a lost art, but not with these two. It plays many roles in their relationship. Besides just a greeting and farewell it's for comfort and foreplay, for assurance and an expression of happiness. It follows their laughter and chases away tears, and when they're run down with the burdens of life, it's their promise of unconditional love as they hold each other.

I don't know _how_, but much as she was enjoying their impromptu makeout session, Sara managed to nudge her nose against his cheek and break off the kiss, leaving them panting in each other's arms, forehead to forehead. I do know _why_, however, and the sound of her stomach rumbling let Grissom know why too.

He kissed her once more then hoisted her up in a bear hug and spun her around. She giggled and wriggled in his arms until he set her down, resting her bottom against the back of the couch. "Shall I feed you?"

Stroking a hand down his chest she answered saucily, "Ply me with food, my love, and I'll treat you to a _very_ sweet dessert later..."

Well, Grissom sure as hell didn't need to give _that_ offer much consideration. He dipped low into a flourish of a bow. "Your wish is my command, m'lady."

He popped out to the truck to bring in the groceries while she took the luggage to the bedroom and tossed their toiletry tote onto the bathroom counter on her way by. They met up again by the kitchen sink and spared no time in starting their dinner preparations. After all, she was starving and he wanted dessert!

As he was unloading the numerous bottles of seasonings they had been wise enough to bring along (it seems that Brass could decorate, but apparently felt that salt and pepper were all a man needs in the pantry), Gil dropped the basil. When retrieving it from the floor, he noticed that Sara was still in her favorite canvas sneakers.

I know what you're all thinking… you thought I was just going to drop the whole shoe thing, right? Well, there _was_ a point to that whole earlier ditty…

Straightening up, Gil decided to razz her a bit. "Gosh, your feet must be roasting in those shoes and socks. Wouldn't you rather be wearing nice cool sandals like me? Oh wait… the only other things you brought up are those embarrassing flip flop things, and they really didn't look all that comfortable..."

Just to spite him, she grinned and toddled off to take him up on his suggestion, as he knew she would. Returning a minute later, she went back to making her world-famous salad of fresh greens, sunflower seeds and raspberries, ignoring his obvious amusement at her colourful footwear that clashed badly with her khakis. As she puttered about the small kitchen, her steps were now making a distinct _"fwappa fwappa fwappa"_ sound that Grissom couldn't help but mock.

"Could you possibly make a little more noise?" he asked sarcastically while slicing a loaf of french bread.

"What?"

He chuckled. "Well, I certainly won't have to worry about you sneaking up behind me in those clod-hoppers, will I?"

This prompted a childish huff from her, and she stuck her tongue out at him to complete the image of immaturity. He raised his hands in surrender.

"Hey… I'm just saying that you're scaring off the wildlife for miles around with all that racket and the local hunters won't be very happy about it," he chided.

The far-from-serious glower she shot his way amused him, but also distracted him just long enough for her to heave a cherry tomato his way. She snickered when it thwapped off his forehead and he bobbled it before it fell to the floor. Laughing, he bent to snag it, gave it a quick rinse, then popped it into his mouth. His eyebrows waggled comically at her as he chewed. Sara shook her head and gave him a kiss on the nose as she slid the package of salmon in front of him to doctor up.

In no time at all, Grissom set the prepared foil packets of herbed fish and veggies in the BBQ out on the back deck. As he shut the lid he realized they'd forgotten the wine in the cooler out in the truck. After collecting it, he returned to the kitchen and started ransacking various drawers on a quest for a corkscrew – that was one thing they hadn't thought to bring and he was hoping against hope that they wouldn't have to resort to pushing the cork into the bottle in desperation. Nothing ruins a good Beaujolais like a bitter cork floaty.

And of course, that's when it happened. The inevitable. C'mon… we all know it was bound to happen sooner or later. The chances of avoiding it are slim at best, and yet we all ignore the risks, don't we? Hedge our bets that today will be different and we'll manage to get through unscathed. Sara should be so lucky. No, the Fate-Fairies were feeling particularly devious this day and decided to have a little fun with her. Sara was minding her own business, walking across the faded deck towards the picnic table, left – right – left – right – le… **"Wuh!"**

Grissom heard the yelp and crash, and immediately bolted through the open patio door. There he found Sara sprawled face-down on the planks. The slew of cuss words rumbling under her breath would put a trucker to shame. Their delectable salad now adorned the table, bench, and a good arc of the deck in front of her. It must've caught some pretty good air, as the overturned bowl was now about eight feet away by the railing.

"Oh shit -- Sara, you ok?"

A split second of observation while he scuttled to her side summed up the problem. The tip of one of her _precious_ flip flops had apparently snagged on a floorboard mid-stride. As any self-respecting flip flop would, it had folded back under itself to about the ball of her foot, splitting the foam and popping the tab of the thong out of the base. The result - a rather unceremonious faceplant.

Grissom gently helped the groaning woman roll over and sit up. He cringed as he took in her state. Oh, but that old deck was weathered and unforgiving. Her hands seemed to have taken the brunt of the tumble. They were scraped up pretty badly with pinpricks of blood blossoming. Worst of all they were now streaked from fingertip to wrist with countless slivers - some of them were massive. Her toes wiggling above the remnants of the offending shoe were in need of bandaging as well, especially her big toe.

With her face screwed up, she mustered a pitiful, "Um… ow?" She was trying to make light of the humiliating situation, but her unshed tears gave her away. He could tell that it wasn't just the burn of embarrassment causing her to well up. Tough or not, that's gotta hurt.

"Aw, Honey…" he started, but she sharply cut him off.

"No, don't… you'll only make me cry. Just… I'm fine… just help me up, ok? Please?"

Well, I'll bet you can pretty much guess the next bit. Grissom did indeed help her up. He then guided her hobbling form through the salad and got her settled in her seat. At Sara's insistence that she really was ok, which he really didn't believe, he trotted back out to the truck to fetch the first aid kit. They spent the next hour and a half making strained conversation. He asking her probing questions to get her mind off the pain of him tweezing out the acres of slivers, and she wincing now and then, trying to answer as best as she could. Luckily she had the pleasure of watching him up close to help distract her. That helped some… not much, but some.

Dinner was forgotten until some time into Gil's medical duties when the telltale charred odor reminded them that it was still on the grill. When he plucked the now burnt and smoking packet from the heat, there was no point in even opening the foil. The damage was obvious so he tossed it aside to cool before they could throw it out, then returned to the task at hand.

Finally he stood and declared her wood-free. She sucked in a quick rush of air through clenched teeth as he dunked her tender hands in a bowl of cool water. By the time Grissom had carefully dried her off, slathered her in ointment and gauzed her up, the sun had ducked behind the treetops. Around them the nocturnal insects had begun their evening song.

Feeling much better, Sara stood on her own and gave her discarded thongs the evil eye. Ya, she sure showed _them_ who was boss. In a show of solidarity, Grissom gave them a swift kick for good measure. "C'mon inside before we get eaten alive out here," he offered, swatting at the sudden cloud of man-eating mosquitoes with one arm and slipping the other around his girl.

Once the patient was parked at the kitchen table, she apologized for the umpteenth time for ruining their evening. She even threw in a little self-bashing for her clumsiness while she was at it. It was quite a little pity-party Sara was throwing herself, but all things considered, it _was_ a pretty crappy way to start their vacation.

As she prattled on, Gil let her vent while he whipped up a couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for their long-overdue supper. It wasn't fancy, but it'd have to do. He joined her at the table, assuring her once again that there was nothing for her to be sorry for – it was simply an unfortunate accident. She sat frowning at her dinner for a moment before he clued in to why she wasn't eating. Without a word he leaned closer to lift the food to her mouth, since her swollen mummy-wrapped hands were not so useful at the moment. It wasn't the highlight of her life to have to be fed like some invalid, but at this point Sara's hunger won out over her embarrassment.

They ate in a companionable silence, Gil finishing his sandwich long before Sara. Eventually, with her mouth poised to take the last bite from his thick fingers, she noticed how intently he was watching her. For the first time since pre-wipeout Sara smiled – well, it was more a half smile, but it was better than none at all.

"What?" she asked, taking in the offered crust.

He watched as she finished the morsel before answering, "I just… I really love you." He shrugged like it was no big deal but the words rung true.

This coaxed a full-blown grin from her (and really… who wouldn't?), one that made her eyes crinkle and his heart soar. Drawing herself up, she slid around the table, leaning over to plant a slow wet one on her lover. He moaned and slowly dragged her down to straddle his lap, melting into her kiss. She intended to make good on her promise of dessert, despite the fact that her salmon got torched. Reaching up, Sara cupped her hands around the back of his neck, intent on pulling him closer, but as soon as she applied a little pressure she was unkindly reminded of her injuries. Their lip-lock ended abruptly when she jerked back and let out a growl, holding her hands up between them and glaring at them like it was their fault that she fell.

Grissom took hold of her wrists with care. "Honey, maybe this isn't such a good idea tonight..."

That may have been what his mouth was saying, but the swelling rod making its presence known under her was saying otherwise. He wasn't the only one aroused at this point either. They had started something before dinner, and by god, they were going to finish it. No, Sara wasn't letting this go so easily. That stubborn streak I mentioned earlier had kicked in.

She shifted a little, purposely grinding against his erection in the process. This most certainly did not go unnoticed. His eyes slid shut at the sensation and he let his head tilt back a little. Stretching her arms out to either side with his fingers still loosely around her forearms, she nuzzled up by his ear and whispered the one thing she knew would change his mind.

"But I want you, Gil... _please_…"

When his hips twitched to increase the pressure against her crotch, Sara knew that she had won. Not that this was by any means a loss on his part, you understand. Just to be sure, she traced her tongue around the shell of his ear before licking her way down the side of his tanned neck. She settled in to lounge a while in the dip above his collarbone. The papery-skinned hollow was a favorite spot of hers, and his too it would seem if his quivering gasp was any indication.

Gathering his wits, which was a fairly challenging task at that moment, Grissom murmured his surrender. "Well… I suppose we could… oh god… we could… um… give it another try."

Lordy, but he was a slave to that woman. They both knew it and that was ok, because she was just as likely to spoil him right back. That's what made them so great together – the ultimate symbiotic relationship of give and take.

Right now Sara was definitely _giving_ by tasting her way across his chest to pay equal attention to the other side of his neck. Lolling his head slowly in the opposite direction, Gil gave her clear access, content to be _taking_ the pleasure being lavished on him. At some point her pelvis had begun a subtle rocking motion, teasing him (and herself, too) to a near frenzy, and he had to shift his hands to her waist and stop her before the party ended early.

Sara's throaty laugh vibrated against his skin, bringing the tiny hairs on the back of his neck to attention and puckering his nipples. His hands slid down to caress the curves of her ass. At first he traced fingertip swirls over them, but when he twisted his head around and drew her back into a deep kiss his grasp became more firm and he ground himself up against her. Hard.

As quickly as he'd upped the ante he eased off. "Enough of this chair," he panted, then lightly patting her bottom he growled, "Up."

Wordlessly she complied, leaning her forearms on his shoulders to balance herself as she rose. He followed her up and away from the table. The dishes could wait, but the ache slowly building in his balls? Not so much. Especially not with the way she was looking at him - those piercing eyes, those swollen lips still slick with moisture from his mouth.

Gil briefly entertained the notion of scooping her off her feet and carrying her to the bedroom. It was a truly romantic notion and he was proud of himself for even considering it, but bearing in mind his temperamental knees, he dismissed the idea. One fall was definitely enough for today.

Instead, his palm made its way to its favorite haunt - the dip of her lower back. "Care to join me in mussing up Jim's sheets?"

----------------------

**_AN: The 3rd and final chapter will be along within the week…_**


	3. Chapter 3

Title: **A Trip Down Memory Lane **  
Rating: Mature (a little potty mouth, a little porn… ok, a lot of porn)  
Spoilers: Anything up to the end of Season 6, including the finale, is fair game.  
Disclaimers: I just checked again... CSI is still not mine. Dammit.

Dedication: WINDBOUND (on LJ) can take credit for helping me to drag this one out, brush it off, and finally get back to writing. Thanks!

A/N: At last… this is the 3d and final chapter. Reading the previous chapters would be an asset. Of course, if you're ok with reams of pointless smut, and the background story leading up to this scenario is not all that important to you, then I guess you can just pick up the story from here. Whatever works for you.

Warning: This may well be the longest, most over-written piece of shameless pornfic known to mankind. I'm not sure that's a good thing… actually, I suspect it may have bypassed uber-sexy and gone straight to ridiculously overkill. If so, my profound apologies…

**A Trip Down Memory Lane **

part 3

So we left off with: "Care to join me in mussing up Jim's sheets?"

Sara's raspy reply of, "I thought you'd never ask," made his heart do a double-knock in his chest. That was her same response, verbatim, the first time he asked her out. From the twinkle in her gaze, he was pretty sure she was well aware of her choice of words.

They made their way to the bedroom, snicking off lights along the way, leaving them to complete their short journey in the moonlight seeping in through the cabin's many windows. When Sara saw his shadowy form reaching towards the bedside lamp she murmured, "Leave it off."

For one brief moment he thought she'd suddenly become shy. While no one would accuse Sara of being an exhibitionist, she certainly never presented as bashful around Gil either. Getting naked with him (or _for _him even, depending on her mood) didn't seem to phase her one bit no matter what the light level. He turned to her about to ask her why when he got his own answer. Seeing her standing there, awash in a moon beam, he figured it out. She looked incredible - like an angel. The light painted her an ethereal blue, accentuating the curves, leaving the deeply shadowed regions to his fertile imagination.

For the second time in one day Gil was reduced to the monosyllabic response of, "Wow," this time in a low whisper. Even in the darkness he could see the lust burning in her gaze. Apparently she liked what she saw too. That settled things – the light stayed off.

They both took a half-step forward and met in the middle to plaster their bodies together. Sara plunged her tongue deep into his inviting mouth as they feasted on each other, trying to satisfy their hunger. At first Gil's hands cradled the back of her head as if he were afraid that she'd slip away, but at some point they had stolen down between them. Before she knew it he had undone all of her shirt buttons. He didn't remove the garment, merely parted the panels and slid his hands along her ribcage then around to her back. She wasn't complaining about the situation, of course, she was just surprised when the cool draft wafted across her bare belly.

This was about the time when he tore his lips from hers and replanted them just below her left ear. It was specifically her left ear. Sara thoroughly enjoyed him in the vicinity of either ear, but for some reason the right one never got her quivering quite the way the left one did – and right now, the left was doing exactly that.

He took the opportunity to make quick work of her bra clasp. In one smooth motion he slipped her shirt back off her shoulders to float to their feet, then brought his fingers back across her shoulders again to drag the straps toward him. Sara rolled her arms forward and the force of gravity took over in the removal process. Once the bands skated down to her wrists Gil snagged them and gently lifted them over her bandages.

Much as Sara was enjoying his attentiveness, she was starting to feel a tinge of frustration. She was standing there half-naked and already her lover was working on the button and fly of her cargo shorts. Meanwhile, he was fully dressed. This was not sitting well with her. It wasn't that there was any kind of unspoken disrobing race that she was worried about, but Sara has always been a very active participant in their "recreational activities", and to be honest, she wanted him stripped down so she could feel his searing skin against hers. This whole "no hands" thing was really a drag.

She tried to tell him what was on her mind, but Gil latched onto a nipple just then, and when she tried to say his name it came out sounding something like "Gaaa-ah." When her knees gave out from the intensity of him grazing just the tip of his tongue languidly over the rock-hard bud, he gently supported her weight and guided her down onto the bed without missing a beat.

Grissom continued to tease her breasts, moving from one to the other and back again, alternately licking and nipping, occasionally sucking hard at unexpected intervals. God, she loved that. It wasn't a shock that he was great in bed – she'd always suspected he would be. What had surprised her was that there was always variety and casual meanderings in their lovemaking. For someone as systematic and structured as Gil normally was, his ability to turn that all off in bed and simply allow himself to go with the flow impressed her to no end.

Sara tried not to compare, and she would never voice these thoughts aloud, but with all of her past lovers (few as they may have been) Sara was able to pinpoint their pattern after only a few times in bed. That kind of predictability - the "5 minutes of kissing, 2 minutes of breast fondling, 30 milliseconds to tear off all clothing, and 1 minute of obligatory (though not very satisfactory) manual stimulation, followed immediately by 3 – 6 minutes of good old-fashioned intercourse" – well, it really left a lot to be desired. So far that had never been a problem in this relationship. There was no routine, no predefined roles of who was in control, and thankfully there were absolutely no discernible patterns whatsoever. It was all new all the time… like sex-yahtzee or something; you could never be sure if you'd get a little of everything, a full house, or the prized 5-of-a-kind. And yes, both had been on the receiving end of that last one a few times and almost died of pleasure.

Oh wait - I got a little off track there. Where was I? Oh yes, Gil was still dressed...

Somehow, while her mind was contemplating Gil's amazing diversity, the man in question had managed to finagle her out of her shorts _and _panties. That was pretty smooth since he would have had to get her to lift her hips to do that, but with the distracting rasp of his beard brushing across the sensitive skin around her naval he probably could've convinced her to cluck like a chicken and she'd have no recollection of it.

So now Sara was stretched out on the quilt (and it really was wonderfully soft against her skin) without a stitch of clothing on. At the apex of her legs she could feel his humid breath passing over her wetness. He wasn't actually touching her, but she knew she had to act now because once he dove in with that mouth of his there'd be no hope of her stringing together anything intelligible beyond that point.

"Wait wait wait...," she finally mustered. She opened her eyes, lifted her head and looked down the plain of her body. Just over the horizon of her neatly trimmed bush she could see the top half of Gil's head. His face was red and his steely blue eyes, which were almost completely eclipsed by wide pupils, were looking back at her. They were simultaneously dancing and yet calm, waiting for her to proceed. She couldn't see the end of his nose but… _christ… _he was so close she could feel each breath pass over her and it was all she could do not to squirm.

Sara struggled to get the words out. "I want… I mean I can't… with…" Giving up on speech she raised her paws from their resting place against the mountain of pillows on either side of her head. He grinned. His mouth was still out of her line of sight, but his eyes crinkled and she knew he understood.

"What would you like, Sweetheart?" he asked.

Swallowing her pride she continued, "I need you… to be my hands."

He _did_ feel badly for goading her into wearing those stupid shoes – had he left things alone she'd have still been wearing her Keds and never would've fallen in the first place. His guilt answered, "How can I help?"

"I want to see you."

"I'm right here," he replied.

"No," she clarified, "I want to see _all _of you… and feel you against me. I want you to take off your clothes."

Bracing his hands on either side of her legs, he leaned forward with his mouth ready to clamp over her mound. She tensed and held her breath waiting for the contact but at the last second he pushed up from his knees and stood up instead. Sara whimpered at his teasing.

There were no words then, just Grissom looming by the bed doing her bidding while keeping his eyes locked on hers. Sara's initial goal had been the end result… Gil naked. She was fully expecting him to satisfy her request with the typical 30 millisecond shucking and be right back on the bed before she could blink. Imagine her pleasant surprise when he began slipping the buttons from their holes, working from the neck down. Very, very slowly. Good god… he wasn't just taking off his clothes, he was stripping. For her. It wasn't some cheesy hip-swinging, overtly sexual striptease to bad music or anything (thank god), but with his smoldering expression and unhurried pace it was the sexiest thing she'd ever seen (and aren't we all just a little jealous?).

This left Sara biting her lower lip, trying rather unsuccessfully to stifle her moans. He drew his shirt off and hung it from a post at the end of the bed, still caught in her gaze, still in no rush. He obvious self-control was apparent as he started on his lower half just as unhurried. The snap released with a resounding pop and the slow zipping that drifted from the shadows revved her engine just that much more. Grissom hooked his thumbs in the waistband, shuffled them down a smidge and paused. She gasped. Hot damn… he'd gone commando.

Finally he slipped one hand in and loosely cupped himself to shield his delicate parts from the zipper's teeth, then shifted his hips and tugged on the cotton with his free hand. The shorts crumpled down to his ankles. Gil side-stepped out of them, leaving them where they lay. Standing before her, unashamed in all his buck-naked glory he asked, "Anything else?"

_Anything else indeed_, Sara thought, licking her lips. Really, what more could a woman want? She may have held back her squirming earlier but now it seemed as though every muscle from head to toe was twitching involuntarily. It was virtually a tremor really; she could feel it and he could see it. Can you say anticipation?

"My god, you're beautiful," she whispered. Grissom was man enough to take that as the compliment that it was.

In a low voice he responded, "I was just thinking the same thing about you."

"Lie with me," was all she had to say, and he tucked a knee up onto the edge of the mattress and swung himself around to lie half on his side, half draped along the length of her. He was hot. She was hot. Together there was a very real chance that they could spontaneously combust but neither particularly cared at that moment. They were skin on skin and it was what they both wanted.

"Closer…" she begged before sinking back into a charged kiss.

He obeyed again, shifting his weight until he completely blanketed her. Even his legs lay flush over hers, leaving his manhood nestled between the heat of their bodies. It felt awesome, his crushing weight pressed to her.

She skooched her legs apart so he dropped snugly between them, then began stroking her feet up and down his calves. Hey, with her temporary hand-less situation, she had satisfy her craving to touch him somehow… and she sure didn't hear _him _complaining!

At last neither could take it any longer. He took her, and she gave herself willingly. They moved together with ease, stroking each other to sheer madness. Sara's long legs snaked up around his backside to clamp him tightly in place. Thrusts died down to shallow twitches, then Gil began the faintest rocking motion of short but quick movements, to which Sara added an equally minute roll of her hips. The pressure built steadily until something had to give.

Sara let go first. She cried out suddenly, tossing her head from side to side, trying desperately not to grab onto him and pull him tight against her with her wounded hands. Then Grissom exploded too, groaning her name over and over. He lay there on top of her as long as he could, knowing she loved his weight pressing her to the mattress, but eventually his annoying post-coital hyper-sensitivity drove him out from between her legs.

He lifted himself off and stretched out alongside her on his belly. She automatically rolled over and matched his pose, and they relaxed until their breathing was pretty well under control again. Just before they completely drifted off Grissom mumbled, "Honey, you know how you said we should do something nice for Jim?"

"Uh-huh," was about all she could manage.

"I think dry cleaning this quilt should be on the top of that list."

Sara grinned and sunk into a peaceful slumber, content with the newest memories they'd just made.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

****

That's all she wrote, folks! Thanks for coming along for the ride! (oh my god… the puns!)

A/N #2: I had to tame down this chapter from its original form (yes - this is the "cleaner" version!) I was worried it was closer to an "X" rating than an "M". If you're a dirty, dirty reader (like me) and want to read the un-censored version you can go to my bio page here and I'll post a link to it over in the Geekfiction community on LJ.


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